TRANSCRIBED FROM THE HOT SPRINGS NEW ERA JANUARY 14, 1919 P. 3
Twas Ever Thus
Quite frequent in the evenings, after
chow is stowed away,
And we sit around, re-doing the labor
of the day.
Most every subject’s mentioned
from religion to baseball,
But their praisin’ of their home state
is the one that gets them all.
There’s the Top from old I-O-W-A
speaks of fields of “yaller” corn,
And he’s got a bunch of brothers
who are all Iowa born.
To our Clerk old NORTH DAKOTA
is the land of home sweet home,
And CALIFORNIA’S blessing shines
upon our Looney’s dome.
The Blue Ridges of VIRGINIA are
eulogized by Hank,
While to Bill no state at all with
ILLINOIS can rank.
But Brooks will sit and argufy in
tones both clear and bold,
That dear old state of ARKANSAS
he’s dying to behold.
Now, when they start a-praisin’ of
the spot where they were born,
I ain’t the sort of guy to crab and
try to plug their horn.
For the guy who lacks the pep to
boost for his home town,
Is the bird who’s pretty useless in
the chase for Wilhelm’s crown.
But—although PENNSYLVANIA’S
hills have kept me day and night,
I’ll never say she holds the only spot
at all’s that right.
I love her very dearly, but she one
of forty-eight,
And she stands above no other in a
real, just estimate.
So, when Flanders’ mud is dried and
but a memory,
I’ll not shout “Dear home State, I’m
coming back to thee;”
I’ll jump and yell with gladness and
in my glee I’ll say:
“Captain land me ANYWHERE in
the good old U.S.A.”
Now think it over pardner, and I
know that you agree,
That you don’t give an oo-la-la where
You leave the sea.
They can put us off at MAINE or
on the beach at NEWPORT NEWS,
And we’ll find a fitting welcome to
end our warlike cruise.
Then we’ll hie our way to homeland
by boat or rail or gas,
And we’ll find the same fond greeting
through every town we pass.
We’re just Uncle Sammy’s Yankees
from the land of jot and plenty,
And here’s a hope that we’re all back
there by the year of 1920.
Ralph D. Mohney, Corp.
308 Butchery Co. Q.M.C.
NOTES: Serg. Alfred Lee Brooks sent the poem written by a member of his company to his parents Mr. and Mrs. W. L. Brooks. One verse refers to Brooks. He was born on December 25, 1896 in Hot Springs, Arkansas and died on January 12, 1990. He served in Butchery Co. Q.M. C. He is buried in the Memorial Gardens Cemetery in Hot Springs.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
-
Twas Ever Thus
Quite frequent in the evenings, after
chow is stowed away,
And we sit around, re-doing the labor
of the day.
Most every subject’s mentioned
from religion to baseball,
But their praisin’ of their home state
is the one that gets them all.
There’s the Top from old I-O-W-A
speaks of fields of “yaller” corn,
And he’s got a bunch of brothers
who are all Iowa born.
To our Clerk old NORTH DAKOTA
is the land of home sweet home,
And CALIFORNIA’S blessing shines
upon our Looney’s dome.
The Blue Ridges of VIRGINIA are
eulogized by Hank,
While to Bill no state at all with
ILLINOIS can rank.
But Brooks will sit and argufy in
tones both clear and bold,
That dear old state of ARKANSAS
he’s dying to behold.
Now, when they start a-praisin’ of
the spot where they were born,
I ain’t the sort of guy to crab and
try to plug their horn.
For the guy who lacks the pep to
boost for his home town,
Is the bird who’s pretty useless in
the chase for Wilhelm’s crown.
But—although PENNSYLVANIA’S
hills have kept me day and night,
I’ll never say she holds the only spot
at all’s that right.
I love her very dearly, but she one
of forty-eight,
And she stands above no other in a
real, just estimate.
So, when Flanders’ mud is dried and
but a memory,
I’ll not shout “Dear home State, I’m
coming back to thee;”
I’ll jump and yell with gladness and
in my glee I’ll say:
“Captain land me ANYWHERE in
the good old U.S.A.”
Now think it over pardner, and I
know that you agree,
That you don’t give an oo-la-la where
You leave the sea.
They can put us off at MAINE or
on the beach at NEWPORT NEWS,
And we’ll find a fitting welcome to
end our warlike cruise.
Then we’ll hie our way to homeland
by boat or rail or gas,
And we’ll find the same fond greeting
through every town we pass.
We’re just Uncle Sammy’s Yankees
from the land of jot and plenty,
And here’s a hope that we’re all back
there by the year of 1920.
Ralph D. Mohney, Corp.
308 Butchery Co. Q.M.C.
NOTES: Serg. Alfred Lee Brooks sent the poem written by a member of his company to his parents Mr. and Mrs. W. L. Brooks. One verse refers to Brooks. He was born on December 25, 1896 in Hot Springs, Arkansas and died on January 12, 1990. He served in Butchery Co. Q.M. C. He is buried in the Memorial Gardens Cemetery in Hot Springs.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
-